


Perchance to Dream

by LaBelleDameSansMerci



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Gen, Prompt Fic, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelleDameSansMerci/pseuds/LaBelleDameSansMerci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompt-fics, both short and long drabbles.  I really love the challenge of writing for prompts, so please feel free to post an idea you've been dying to see in a review.</p><p>Current Prompt Post: Rhaegar didn't steal the girl for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robb/Rhaenys

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first fic! Please please please leave your comments/thoughts. I pretty much thrive off of them. And feel free to request a fic/leave a prompt. I love a challenge, so unique ideas/pairings are most definitely welcome!
> 
> Apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes as I don't have a beta-reader. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!
> 
> Also, just as a forewarning, there are some mentions of Elia Martell's rape in this chapter. Nothing overly graphic, but just a heads up to any who might be bothered by that.

"Bed them!" the Usurper roars. He laughs as the men rush forward, sloshing more wine down his tunic, and Rhaenys' dark eyes burn with hatred when they latch upon the gormless King. He who befouls the Iron Throne with his corpulence and whoremongering. The throne that should have been Aegon's.

And oh how her heart aches at the thought of her sweet baby brother, whose memory is but a whisper in her mind, brief glimpses of curling around him as Mother sings of Queen Nymeria and the Red Viper and the Sun that will never set. Aegon. The greatest King that never was. And she who would have been his Sister Queen. 

But instead of a crown and a golden age, she is ensnared by stags and lions and wolves. They clamber toward her, eager to strip the Last Dragon and see her bare before this court of traitors. They forget that she is a Sun as well, surrounded by a sea of snakes. Oberyn and his daughters do not move to stop the onslaught, though Rhaenys can tell her request that they not attend her is a heavy exercise on their forbearance. Especially Oberyn's. 

She loves and pities her Uncle in equal measure. Rarely does he overindulge in his cups, but once a year on the anniversary of Mother's death, his eyes will blur from too much Dornish Red and he will stumble into her room, curl against her body protectively (so painfully reminiscent of she and Aegon), and weep into her dark hair. _Elia_ , he calls her then, as he confesses perceived sins. _I spurned my horse north and rode him until he died, but it was not enough. I failed to save you, little sun._

Rhaenys remembers a woman who calmly ushered her through the hidden door of a false wall and told her they were to play a game. They would see who could remain silent the longest, no matter what was happening around them. Rhaenys remembers asking if Aegon could play the game with her and the sad look on Mother's face when she said he was too young to understand and would surely cause her to lose. 

Rhaenys remembers swallowing her screams when the Mountain That Rides smashed her brother against the wall and took Mother by force. She remembers the sounds of Mother's bones snapping as the monster raped her bloody and left her still and lifeless beneath his might. But most of all, Rhaenys remembers Mother's silence and the strength that it lent her. The strength to survive.

She does not remember a woman who was in need of saving. _Unbowed, unbent, unbroken._

Rhaenys rallies behind those words now, as the beasts swarm closer, and when the first man reaches out to her bodice (a blonde, with an overabundance of arrogance and Rhaenys prays that he's a Lannister for she hates them most of all), she counters his movements in a way no one was expecting. His hand grips onto the delicate Myrish lace and then stills entirely when she grasps his cock overtop his pants and squeezes beyond pleasure, bordering on pain. 

The man chokes on whatever slur he'd been ready to utter about her lineage and honor and his strangled cry gives pause to the others that approach. Rhaenys smiles at him, though in truth it is more a baring of teeth, and says sweet as poisoned honey, "Turnabout is fair play, my lord. Any attentions you so generously bestow upon me, I shall repay in kind."

Silence follows her words and when none of the men seek to touch her, Rhaenys releases her hold on the cowed lion and sweeps out of the room. She wears no crown on her head (and never shall, thanks to her grandsire's madness and Father's folly), but when her newly wedded husband slips inside the chambers, he bows before her, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. Rhaenys bristles, for she is a dragon and a sun and who is this wolf to taunt her, to think himself superior? But then he begins to disrobe and she watches him with great trepidation, her body unmovable as stone, but her insides quivering for she wants no part of this. 

She could cry out for help. Oberyn and her cousins would raise to her defense in an instant, spears and daggers plunging into the necks of her enemies. But the price of her freedom would be their deaths. Rhaenys has already lost so much. She could not bear to lose more. And so she steels herself for the Northman's advances, for him to rut into her without care, and then she remembers the words of his house. She prays to any of the gods who will hear her. _Please, let winter come quickly. Let him grant me that kindness at least._

But her lord husband only strips himself to his small clothes and then crawls beneath the covers. "Goodnight, Princess," he murmurs as he drifts off to sleep.

Rhaenys can detect no hint of mockery in his tone and this puzzles her greatly, traitor's son that he is. When his breath falls into an even pattern, she allows herself to slip into bed as well. But sleep eludes her for some time and Rhaenys finds herself considering that, mayhaps, being married to Robb Stark will not be the punishment any of them expected.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Her husband does not call upon her in the night and that wins her friendship more quickly than flowers and pretty words ever could. When his father travels south with the King, he actively seeks her counsel on matters great and small, and that wins her respect. And when he welcomes her in the training yard, defending her against his own mother when Lady Catelyn would have her sewing with needles instead of sparring with spears, he wins her favor.

But it is not until the Bastard King calls for his father's head and the kingdoms are thrust into war that he wins her heart.

He is King in the North now, and she his Queen. Rhaenys knows it is only a matter of time before the Baratheons and Lannisters break before the might of the North and the Riverlands and Dorne. Robb steals a private moment alone with her and Rhaenys does not think she has ever seen him so conflicted as when he makes her a most unexpected offer.

"We could have our marriage annulled when the war is won. Our marriage is not… We haven't ever…" he trails off, voice tight and muscles tense. Robb's turned away, as if he cannot bear to face her. Rhaenys thinks that may be for the best because she gapes at his figure in a most unattractive manner. "The Iron Throne is yours, if you want it."

Once she's reined in her shock, schooling her features to reveal nothing, Rhaenys forces him to face her. "Is that what you want? To be free to choose another?"

Robb swallows hard, lifts a hand and brushes his fingertips across the apple of her cheek. They tremble almost violently. "Neither of us chose to enter this marriage. But I would give up my crown to keep you as mine."

Rhaenys turns her head, kissing each of his fingers in turn. When her lips reach the last digit, she pulls it into her mouth and nips at the flesh there before sucking. Robb hauls her against him and lowers his head, peppering her neck with open mouth kisses. Rhaenys can feel his hardness pressing against her and she smiles, pulls his finger from her mouth before crushing their lips together and guiding his hands to her bodice, offering assistance when he fumbles with her stays.

Their first coupling would be over quick indeed if Rhaenys had not learned well at the hands of Daemon Sand. But she has always been an apt pupil and so when Robb nears the edge, she coaxes him back to her, shows him how to slip his fingers betwixt her folds and leave her panting, crooning out his name, so that they find completion together. 

Later, when they lie on furs slicked with sweat, Robb sees the faint outline of his fingers on her hips and his brow furrows. "I hurt you."

Rhaenys laughs. "No. You are my mate and you marked me. I pray you do so again."

She leads his head to her neck and revels in the feeling of his teeth and tongue against her skin. Her skin burns, like her blood is on fire within her veins, and she finally understands Father's words. _Fire and blood. A passion that burns through you, consumes you from the inside out, but brings pleasure instead of pain. It is love our words embrace. Not madness._

She growls when Robb's touch leaves her skin, however fleeting, and her husband laughs from his position atop her. "My dragon princess," he murmurs as he licks the shell of her ear and leaves her shivering. "You may have some wolf in you after all."

Rhaenys flips their positions, grinding her hips against Robb's and eliciting a delicious moan from his lips as she prepares to sheath him with her warmth. The grin she gives him before bearing down is unabashedly wicked. "Not yet, your Grace. But I will soon enough."

She lowers her hips as Robb bucks his upward and together they succumb to blissful oblivion once more.


	2. As I Lay Dying (Elia/Lyanna/Rhaegar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt on ASOIAF Kink Meme: Rhaegar didn't steal the girl for himself. (bonus points for a scene of the tourney at harrenhal, elia commanding her husband to crown lyanna the queen of love and beauty.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Mentions of Elia's rape. Also, graphic (consensual) sex.
> 
> Feel free to leave a prompt of your own! I love a challenge. And also, thanks for taking the time to read! If you could also take the time to leave a comment with your thoughts, I would so very much appreciate it. :)

_As I Lay Dying_

_"…and she looking at him, saying you could do so much for me if you just would."_

~*~

The room is filled with a stifling heat, one that wraps Lyanna in its choking grasp and squeezes tight until her breath is a shallow, scarce thing. It makes her long for summer snows and Northern winds, a cold that would chase away the fire burning in her belly. And lower places. Places that bleed far longer than they should.

Clashes of steel resound from below the Tower of Joy (and oh how that name mocks her now) as Lyanna writhes in a bed of blood and pain, alone save for the babe suckling gently at her breast. And in her suffering, it is not her mother she cries out for, nor the father of her child, nor the dearly loved brothers she left behind.

"Elia," she whispers, the name a prayer on her lips. 

Ravens had brought her news of Rhaegar's demise. But when Elia Martell had slipped from the mortal plane, Lyanna had needed no raven. She had felt the loss like a dagger thrust in her breast, one that twisted deep and threatened to bury her in sorrow. She held onto the thread of life for her babe's sake alone.

When the clash of steel dies down and Ned kneels by her side, Lyanna places the boy in his arms and it is as if a great burden has been lifted from her shoulders.

"What's his name?" the Quiet Wolf asks.

"That's for his father to decide."

 _Lyanna_ , a voice calls to her in the distance, a familiar melody that makes her blood sing. Her grip on the thread of life loosens ever so slightly.

"Rhaegar is gone, sister. I'm sorry."

"Ah, but Rhaegar is not his father. You are." He opens his mouth in protest, but Lyanna silences it with a painful squeeze of her hand. "Please, brother. Raise him as your own and spare him my fate."

Ned's face is stern and stubborn. "You will not die."

Her smile is a pitiful thing. "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but even it cannot stay death."

 _Lyanna_. The voice beckons her once more, breathy this time, and Lyanna gazes on the babe with fondness as the memory of his conception swells to the surface.

"Lyanna…" Ned's voice is pleading and stirs something deep within her, loyalty to the brother who was never able to understand her, but accepted her nonetheless. But even the Quiet Wolf cannot compete with the Sun.

"Promise me, Ned," she implores him. "Promise me you'll keep him safe."

He nods, his solemn, long face a masculine mirror of her own and she squeezes his hand one last time before relaxing against the blood-soaked bed.

 _Lyanna_ , the voice whispers once more. Lyanna lets go and when she falls into oblivion, it is not darkness that greets her, but rather the Sun.

~*~

A centuries-long legacy ends not because of love, as the bards will claim, but guilt.

It is guilt that weighs Rhaegar down at the Trident, more so than a war hammer ever could. And when Robert's fury crushes into his chest, spilling rubies and blood into the river, it is guilt that tears the name from his lips.

Whispered as it was, it is no wonder that when the story is retold, they will say his last breath belonged to the woman he crowned Queen of Love and Beauty. The names are similar enough to easily be confused, especially as Rhaegar drowned in his own blood. And it will make for a tragic and beautiful song. But, as most songs are, it shall be a lie.

"Elia."

And with his last breath, Rhaegar remembers.

~*~

They warned him of her sickness, her inherent fragility, but when Rhaegar Targaryan meets Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne, he thinks them all fools. Her body is slender, perhaps more so than it should be, and her shoulders shake every now and again when she tries to repress a coughing bout, but her eyes are sharper than steel and her determination as unyielding as the sun itself.

Rhaegar thinks himself too intensely focused on prophecies and saving the realm to become besotted with a woman, even one so remarkable as this Dornish Princess, but he must admit that she is the perfect Queen to bear him three heads to a dragon. And so he offers her a rare smile and a respectful bow.

"Princess Elia."

"Your Grace," she says with a small dip of a curtsey and a smile that hides a thousand secrets.

"Would you care to join me for a walk around the veranda?"

Her eyes twinkle brightly in the southron sun. "I was thinking perhaps we might engage in something a bit more… daring."

They race through Dornish sands and Rhaegar finds he does not mind when Elia's steed overtakes his own. Her laughter soothes the worry that haunts him. Their marriage will not mirror that of his parents. Their children will be better, stronger. They will beat back the monsters and the darkness. 

"Is this match agreeable to you, Princess?" He waits for her answer, surprised by how much her opinion already matters to him.

Elia's shrewd gaze measures him carefully. "Will you be a good ruler to your people, my Prince? Strong and wise and just?"

Rhaegar nods his head and takes her hand in his own. "Yes, my lady. And a good husband to you, as well. On this, you have my vow."

 

~*~

The first time his father burns a man alive, Rhaegar is too shocked and frightened to speak. His face is a careful mask, but when the deed is done, he grabs Elia's arm and leads her from the Throne Room swiftly as decorum will allow.

When they are alone in his chambers, Elia dismisses Rhaneys' wet nurse and cradles their young daughter in her arms, rocking her back and forth, even as tears trickle down her face and disappear into the child's dark locks. "You lied to me," Elia whispers, eyes wet and full of fury when they meet his own. "You promised you would be strong and wise and just. You were none of those things today."

She takes leave of him then, sweeping into her own chambers, Rhaenys in tow. She bars her door and he sees neither his wife nor daughter for three days. Rhaegar remembers his promise and guilt begins to fester inside of him.

It is the first time he has failed his wife. Sadly, it shall not be the last.

~*~

Nearly two dozen more have become victims of the Targaryan words - fire and blood - by the time the Tourney at Harrenhal comes to pass. Rhaegar rejoices in the birth of his son, Aegon, and tries to convince himself that mayhaps Viserys could be the dragon's third head. 

_It is not so_ , a dark voice inside him whispers. _The three heads must all be your seed, not your father's. He is mad and weak. The gods were kind to you and you escaped his fate. But Viserys…_

Rhaegar tries to ignore this voice, does not want to think of the small signs of madness he has already detected in his younger brother. For if Viserys is not the third head and Elia is unable to bear anymore…

But no, he refuses to entertain the notion. For he has grown to love his wife and could not bear to shame her. His guilt threatens to swallow him whole as it is.

~*~

It is Elia, and not Rhaegar, that first lays eyes on the Lady Lyanna as she bests three squires with naught but a wooden practice sword. The Crowned Princess invites the Stark maiden to join her for lunch that day and finds herself helplessly enthralled with this bold she-wolf. The Starks hold to the Old Gods and thus Lyanna's manner is untempered by a Septa, honest where she should be courteous, fierce where she should be demure. Elia smiles and laughs as she has not done so in years and when Lyanna bids farewell so that she might prepare for the nightly feast, Elia misses her presence the moment she is gone. 

Her eyes follow the wolf maiden during the feast, watching as she throws herself into each dance with carefree abandon, laughter robust (so unlike the practiced twittering Elia hates), hair free-flowing and tangled. _Like a Wildling Princess._ Elia risks a dance, though she knows her body shall make her pay for it later, and maneuvers so that Lyanna is her partner. The wolf-girl's cheeks are flushed with exertion and Elia cannot help the words that spill from her lips.

"You are quite beautiful, Lady Lyanna, in more ways than one. Lord Baratheon is a lucky man indeed."

Lyanna blushes furiously. "My thanks, your Grace. But even a she-wolf cannot outshine the sun."

Later, when she remembers this night, Elia will swear it was the excess of Dornish red that granted her enough courage to whisper her next words. "Imagine how brightly we might shine together?"

They are separated then, as the dance demands, but Elia prays to the Seven that the heat she saw in Lyanna's eyes was not merely her imagination.

~*~

When the Knight of the Laughing Tree appears, Elia _knows_. Her breath hitches in her throat with every shattered lance and she sighs in relief when the Mystery Knight claims victory. Until Aerys declares the man his enemy. As the crowd disperses, lords boisterously plotting to unmask the knight and win the King's favor, Elia stumbles, feeling rather faint, and curses her treacherous body like never before. She must find Lyanna, warn her of Aerys' madness.

She glances about desperately for Ser Arthur. Kingsguard though he may be, his loyalty shall first and foremost always be to Dorne. And to her. If he can find Lyanna first, mayhaps they could spirit her south to Oberyn, who has never been able to refuse his sister. And Elia knows once Lyanna was safely ensconced in the Red Viper's lair, even the dragons would not be able to reach her.

But it is Rhaegar she finds, not Arthur. Rhaegar who catches her when her breath has become so shallow that her body sways and threatens to fall. Rhaegar in whom she places her trust.

Fingernails digging deep in his arm, deep enough to draw blood, Elia trembles with fear and determination. "You must save this mystery knight, Rhaegar. Save him from your father's madness."

Rhaegar frowns. "Elia, you are not well, you should be --"

"Damn what I should be doing!" she hisses, putting a strength into her words that she does not feel. "If you bear any love for me at all, then find the Knight of the Laughing Tree and see him safe. Please, Rhaegar. _Please_."

She swoons then, passing into a faint, and though Rhaegar wants nothing more than to see to her well-being, her desperation lingers and so he gently hands Elia over to the approaching Ser Arthur and his sister the Lady Ashara and mounts his stallion in search of this mystery knight.

Rhaegar has no intention of helping this man and every intention of cutting him down. For he recognized the look in Elia's eyes and feels a swelling of hatred for the masked man who earned the love of his lady wife. A love that should be his alone.

But it is not a man he unmasks at all. It is a girl, a she-wolf, who stares up at him with eyes of steel (so very much like Elia that it takes him aback) and bares her neck to him. "Strike true," Lyanna says, "and make it quick."

But Rhaegar does not. Instead he sheaths his blade and offers the Stark girl his hand.

~*~

Lady Lyanna receives an invitation to attend to Princess Elia that evening. Lord Rickard Stark congratulates his daughter on ingratiating herself to the royal family so seamlessly and sends her off with his blessing. 

But when Elia's hands skim over her bare breasts and her sweet tongue runs over every injury sustained in defending the Cranogman's honor, Lyanna knows it is not her father's blessing she needs. "But your husband, the Prince," she gasps. "Surely this is treason."

"If loving you is treason, then I will welcome the flames." Elia slips her hand between Lyanna's thighs and kisses the girl when she bites down on her lower lip to muffle her cries. "Croon for me, my sweet she-wolf. Let me hear you howl."

And howl Lyanna does, as Elia's finger's move within her and send her crashing into sweet oblivion.

Later, when Lyanna sleeps with her head pillowed against Elia's breasts, Rhaegar slips from the shadows, his face unreadable. Elia smiles at him, and it is so wide and brilliant and filled with joy that it takes his breath away. She beckons to him and he joins them in bed, careful not to wake the slumbering wolf. Elia's smile morphs to a grin when she notices that his small clothes are stained with his own seed.

"Did you enjoy yourself, dear husband?"

"Not nearly so much as you."

Elia chuckles and brings Rhaegar's lips down to hers for a soft kiss. "Next time, you shall join us and truly know pleasure."

Rhaegar sighs, resting his forehead against Elia's. "There cannot be a next time, Elia. She is betrothed to the Lord of Storm's End."

Elia pulls back and locks eyes with him, allowing deep mahogany to burn into bright amethyst. "You have always said the dragon needs three heads. I cannot bear you another and Viserys, despite his blood, is no true dragon. Follow the Targaryan traditions of old and take Lyanna as your second-wife. Allow her to bear you the final heir you need."

When Rhaegar hesitates, Elia strikes as quick and deadly as a viper. "You promised me strength and justice and wisdom and failed on all fronts. My nightmares are filled with burning men, Rhaenys quivers against my skirts in fear that the fire may one day take her too, and you have done nothing to stop it. If you cannot give me the life you promised, then at least give me her."

And the guilt that has festered for so long in his belly raises its ugly head once more. Rhaegar looks passed the anger in his wife's eyes and sees her fear and sorrow, sees years of his failure reflected back at him. He sighs once more and lays his hand on top of Elia's, where it rests on Lyanna's hip.

"As my Princess wishes, so it shall be."

~*~

The next day, when he crowns Lyanna Stark his Queen of Love and Beauty, he whispers softly so that only she can hear, "A gift from our beloved Princess."

All the smiles die around them, but later, in the comfort of their chambers, Elia's smile is brilliant enough to chase away his guilt and worry.

~*~

Elia does not flinch when the Mountain that Rides stalks toward her, blood and bits of some unfortunate peasant babe staining his face and clothes. She does not beg for her life. She knows it would be beyond pointless. When he tears her gown and forces himself inside her, she does not cry out. She bites her lip so hard that it splits and fills her mouth with blood.

And as the blackness overtakes her, Elia Martell remembers.

~*~

They will only know one night together, for the raven they sent North will never find Winterfell, Brandon Stark will ride for King's Landing, and Aerys' madness will raise the banners of half the kingdoms.

But for one night, they are well and truly happy.

Lyanna marries Rhaegar under a heart-tree and in the presence of a septon. Afterwards, though there is no traditional bawdy bedding, she is nervous, as all maidens tend to be at their first coupling. But Elia prepares her well, running hands and lips across the she-wolf's body, drawing moans and howls from the newly proclaimed Lyanna Targaryan. 

Rhaegar joins them and Lyanna's eyes widen at the size of him. "Seven _hells_."

Elia chuckles. "Never fear, my brave she-wolf. The pain will be a distant thing in comparison to the pleasure we'll bring you."

Elia lays herself belly up on the ground and licks her lips in anticipation. Lyanna's confusion makes Rhaegar smile and he presses a kiss to her forehead. "You'll want to be on your knees for this one, Princess."

It takes Lyanna a moment to realize the Crowned Prince is talking to _her_. When she does, she tentatively kneels on the ground beside Elia, who tuts and shakes her head. "Over top of me, Lyanna. Kneel over top of me."

Lyanna follows Elia's instructions and is surprised when the former Princess of Dorne pulls her knees up so that Lyanna is straddling her face. "I don't understand how --"

But then Elia's mouth kisses her lower lips and Lyanna no longer has breath to spare for words. Elia's tongue laves at her folds, her nub, and Lyanna grasps the Princess' dark hair, holds her even closer. Elia's laughter is a puff of air against her skin that sends shivers running down Lyanna's body.

And then Rhaegar is behind her, a strong, solid presence. He runs his hands over her breasts and squeezes gently before dipping his head down and nipping at her neck. Lyanna moans, the wetness between her legs ever-growing and a lovely fire coiling deep in her belly.

When Rhaegar pushes slowly inside her, there is a brief, sharp pain. But Elia's tongue on her clit and Rhaegar's hands at her breasts, his mouth working almost feverishly against her neck, chase the pain away until it is but a phantom thought.

The dual sensations, Elia's mouth and Rhaegar's thrusting, bring her to completion so quickly and forcefully that Lyanna would later swear she saw stars. She falls to the ground, a quivering mess, and barely manages to avoid landing on Elia.

Elia smiles at Rhaegar, pleased by the sight of their exhausted lover, her Queen of Love and Beauty. Her chin drips with juices and though he's just come himself, Lyanna's thighs shining in the moonlight, slick with his seed, Rhaegar feels himself growing hard again. His sucks at the juices, moaning when Elia's hands quickly guide him to her entrance and they fall to the ground beside Lyanna, who watches them fuck with feverish eyes.

They spend themselves many times that night and, when the tendrils of dawn first begin to break over the forest's edge, they are finally satiated and fall asleep in a pile of tangled limbs and hearts beating in tandem. Elia is the last to drift off, with Lyanna's head resting against the crown of her lower curls ( _I'll want to wake up to something sweet_ , the former northern maid had whispered with a wolfish grin) and one of Rhaegar's arms encircling her (the other belongs to Lyanna, and Elia's heart sings at the sight of them holding hands even in slumber). 

Later, her life (the little there is left of it) will be filled with fear and fire and pain. Seven Kingdoms will slip from the Dragon's grasp and the bards will sing a lie.

But for one night, the Dragon, Wolf, and Sun know enough love to last them a lifetime.


End file.
